A Little More Than Luck
by sctwilightvampwolfgal
Summary: Alfred wishes to be an angel, and Toris wishes to be human just for a day. Wishes like that may not come true, but Alfred will hope to rise past his bad luck and the scars of his past. *Inspired by a prompt from Day Three of AmeLiet Week.*


It starts when the first feather falls, a white puddle in a sea of color.

Suddenly, his body's unfurling like a rubber band pulled taught and released to quake and shiver somewhere out of his control.

Magical energy surging beneath the surface, and his face grows softer and more childlike, feathers curling on his back.

It's nearly like his body can't quite find a human likeness to grasp on to tightly with a childlike grip and yet it also can't find the tall, feathery, almost imposing figure of the angel that he's supposed to be.

He teeters on the edge, body shifting so rapidly with magical flows, and finally he feels himself nearly fall down from the weight of his chest lying heavy in his heart.

Toris is falling and yet isn't; he doesn't crave the thrill of changing to one of the betrayer's angels.

He craves the homes he sees sometimes, the life that he's never quite grasped, even though he does have a family like bond with some of the other angels; it's just being human seems so tempting for a day.

Toris knows that humans are emotional as are angels, and that humans sometimes make the wrong choices, go down dark paths that Toris knows better than to follow.

He tries to smile at them sometimes, but whenever they see him, they scream first.

Toris doesn't let it bug him that humans tend to not see him as a beautiful creature but rather frightening in his own pecularity.

* * *

Alfred's a laughing man, and he's always getting in trouble though it's not in quite the way that you think.

He crouches down outside cemeteries to place flowers for the dead and sometimes tries to pray for them though his words come out garbled like he isn't supposed to speak; it's what he is regardless.

Alfred tries to help out; he hands out much needed supplies to kids that usually go well.

He's cursed with bad luck and perhaps that's why he's here; he leans against a fountain, ignoring the world around him to focus on the rush of it behind him.

It takes some of the sting from his life off or lack thereof, and he smiles at passerby whenever they pause to stare at him; most think he's a freak with darker features and the hints of wings and horns peeking out despite his best intentions.

Some kids still think he looks cool and want to hang out with the weird man who donates to charities in his spare time even though he technically isn't allowed to.

He pauses from his leaning, letting the water soothe his fears, when his eyes spot an angel, tall but not that tall.

Alfred smiles, because something about this man is different; there's a soft glow even though he's missing a few feathers.

He wonders if he's happy yet has to brush off his own desires to be a part of that bigger picture, the happier beginnings still in Heaven, waiting for those who see.

Alfred isn't sure that he'll ever make it there, but there's something eye catching about seeing one of those that live there and a part of his heart is already turned in a sort of subdued joy, happy for him even when he doubts.

His tail twitches, and Alfred recalls that he's always been unlucky and yet it isn't at all disappointing to realize that some people just seem to radiate the kind of luck and beauty that fits them so well.

Alfred may be unlucky, but there can be hope; he wonders if he were to rise, if they'd accept him, past faults and all.

He's been unlucky; he's hurt people, but all he wants is a second chance no matter how long it may take to right the world and heal his old scars.

Alfred loves more than he should, and while he knows that, if he were a human, it would be okay, if he were an angel, it would be cherished by other angels.

As Alfred is, he can only hope for the kind of joy that hides just out of his reach, and may be hints of that will seep back into the angel, looking at humans with a slight sort of longing; if it's possible for an angel to want to be human, surely it's possible for Alfred to slowly rise until his past scars as ugly as they are shift and change.


End file.
